


When It Rains

by Quicksilver_ink



Category: Radiant Historia
Genre: F/M, Late Night Conversations, Romance, The Night Before A Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_ink/pseuds/Quicksilver_ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night before the final confrontation with Hugo, Stocke and Raynie revisit their promise, and make a new one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It Rains

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cassandra_Quail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassandra_Quail/gifts).



> Written for Cassandra_Quail for Rarepairfest 2014, who said she liked to read things that were "sweet and romantic". It is my hope that she finds this to be both!

The length of the road from Granorg to Alistel could be measured in miles, but was more often counted in days or weeks. An experienced courier could make it in four days; a merchant caravan in thirteen if the roads were good. An army on the march was somewhere between these, and so it was one week after leaving Granorg that the combined Alistelian, Cygnan, and Celestian forces arrived outside Alistel in pursuit of Hugo. General Raul ordered a halt rather late in the day, and immediately summoned officers from all three armies to discuss how and when they would attack Alistel and Hugo’s forces.

Stocke stayed along the wall of General Raul’s pavillion during the evening’s rather protracted strategy meeting. Since the wall was little more than canvas secured by ropes and scaffolding, he couldn’t lean comfortably against it. His feet were protesting by the time plans for the next day’s assault on the city had been finalized.

“So we’re decided. I’m sorry I’ve kept you all up so late,” Raul said, finally. “See the quartermaster for where you’ll sleep. Major Rosch, I’m afraid I need a little bit more of your time.”

The quartermaster, or rather his assistant, was waiting for them outside the pavilion. He saluted, the gesture casting shadows over his face in the torchlight. Marco saluted in return, and Raynie followed half a beat later. Aht just blinked at him.

“As you were busy with the General, we’ve already set up your tents.” He pointed out three tents not far from where they stood. “Specialist Marco, sir, you’re with, er, the, er, with Sir Gutral. He’s already there. Lieutenant Stocke, you’ll be with Major Rosch.”

"But I wanna be with Stocke,” Aht whined, after being told she’d be sharing a tent with Raynie and Sonja.

“Yeah, me too,” Raynie muttered, so quietly Stocke wouldn’t have heard it if he hadn’t been standing next to her. On Raynie’s other side, Marco put his face in his hands. Stocke snorted softly.

“Well, you can’t,” the quartermaster’s assistant told Aht, and turned to leave.

“Why not?”

The man blinked, nonplussed, at the Satyros girl who was tugging on his sleeve.

“Because Stocke’s a boy,” Sonja put in quickly. “In Alistel, boys and girls sleep in separate tents. Is that it, sir?”

The soldier looked at her with relief. “Yes, exactly, that’s why.”

“But _why_?” Aht was close to whining.

"Because it doesn’t look right, sweetie.”

“How doesn’t it look-” Aht began, but Stocke had slipped quietly away and out of earshot before she’d finished.

It was easy to find the tent he was assigned to share with Rosch; several of his friend’s lances were planted point-down beside the small triangular shelter. He had to go down on his hands and knees to enter. The canvas walls of the tent were thin, but when he lit the small lantern, painting things in their daylight colors, they seemed more solid and confining.

Stocke was just settling down into his own bedroll when Rosch crawled into the tent. His head still touched the canvas at the highest point, and his frown looked rather foreboding.

Stocke’s hand went automatically to the sword he’d placed beside him. “Is something the matter?”

Rosch cleared his throat. “I’d, uh, rather been assuming you be spending the night elsewhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you want to, er… well, frankly, we’re facing Hugo tomorrow. He’s cornered and desperate and who knows what kind of dirty tricks he’ll pull. Fennel and Heiss are with him too. If tonight’s my last night on this earth, I want to spend it with Sonja in my arms.” Rosch’s brow creased. “I’d figured you’d feel the same way about Raynie.”

“I want to face Hugo on a full night’s sleep,” Stocke told him, but started to crawl out of the bedroll. “I had assumed you would too.”

Rosch sat back on his knees and folded his arms. “I can sleep in the grave. I hear it’s restful there.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Stocke pulled his boots back on. “You do realize that even if Sonja’s here, Raynie’s still sharing her tent with Aht?”

Rosch waved his hand. “You’ll figure something out. Improvise. Steal a tent. Use that invisibility trick of yours.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his real hand and shifted his weight from side to side. ”I don’t care what you do, just go before Sonja gets here.”

Shaking his head, Stocke slipped out of their tent into the night.

The camp was already quiet. A few fires still burned in the center of camp, but most were down to the dull red of the last coals. He could hear, and sometimes see, the sentries making their rounds, both along the perimeter and within the camp itself.

The air was cool, but comfortably so. Sleeping outside wouldn’t be so bad, although he’d prefer to be well out of earshot of Rosch’s tent. But he was restless now, bleak thoughts crowding into his head at Rosch’s flippant mention of dying. Rosch had died too many times already.

All of his friends had.

Dwelling on that fact would serve no purpose, but he knew that if he tried to sleep now, without shaking the spectres of guilt, rest would be a long time coming, and interrupted by dreams of his friends with death-white faces and blood bubbling from their lips.

Perhaps a walk would clear his thoughts.

As a courtesy to those charged with keeping them all safe, Stocke stayed out of the deeper shadows and kept himself as visible as he could as he walked through the rows of tents. It went a little against the grain to be so conspicuous, but it also meant he was less likely to be approached. There were double the watchmen making  rounds inside the camp, in case someone slipped past the sentries. It had been easy to convince Raul to take the extra precautions with Heiss still at large.

Heiss. What was the man thinking, Stocke wondered, not for the first time. Hugo’s motivations were understandable if repugnant, but Heiss was a blank book, as unfathomable as the White Chronicle had been before it had awoken.

 _Why did he give me the White Chronicle in the first place? If he wished to aid me, why does he still oppose us? Why did he side with a fool like Hugo? Does he know I’m Ernst? Is that why he gave me the White Chronicle?_ \- Stocke stopped, realizing he was back in front of his tent; he’d gone in a circle.

The tent was dark now; someone had doused the light. The faintest murmured voices -- one deep and rumbling, one more feminine in pitch -- caught his ears.

Stocke turned away. The White Chronicle, in the large pocket he’d made for it inside his shirt, seemed a little heavier than usual.

The firepit was black and cold, but he sat by it anyway, looking up at the sky. It took a minutes for his eyes to adjust enough for the stars to come out, deeper and denser the longer he looked. The moon was a fat three-quarters, but on the wane. Soon it would slip beyond half; by the time they’d dealt with Hugo and made the march back to Granorg it would be nearly gone.

 _I probably won’t be here to see its return,_ Stocke thought, and to his shame found that his hands were shaking.

The was a rustle of canvas behind him, and he turned automatically, reaching for his sword.

“Heya, Stocke.” Raynie had just come out of her tent. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

He lifted his hand from his sword's hilt and turned it palm-up.

“Would… would it be okay if I came and sat with you?” Her hesitant manner was almost out-of-character, and made him take a second, closer look at her. Of course she still wore the loose trousers and shirt of the Alistel infantry uniform, since none of them had any other clothes with them, but she’d braided her hair for the night so it wouldn’t tangle in her sleep.

She’d braided her hair like that in Skalla.

“I’d welcome the company,” he said, finding his voice, and patted the ground beside him.

“Sonja disappeared and you’re out here, so I’m guessing you got kicked out of your tent.” Raynie said, settling down beside him. “Now that’s what I call inconsiderate. ‘Specially since I’m still stuck with Aht.”

Stocke shrugged. “Both of you did say you wanted to share a tent with me.”

“Stocke, you _know_ I had something different in mind. But I guess you didn’t?” She smiled crookedly. “It’s okay, I didn’t really expect you would. You’re not much of a romantic.”

“It’s a bad idea to wear yourself out the night before a battle.”

“It’s not wearing yourself out, it’s spending the night together in case it’s your last,” she said with a touch of irritation. “That seems pretty romantic to me.”

His friends were far too casual about the idea of their own deaths. Stocke frowned at her. “Going into battle expecting to die is a good way to make sure you will.”

“So maybe Sonja’s giving Rosch a reason to live.” She’d sat a double handsbreadth away from him, Stocke realized suddenly, although ever since their talk in Skalla she’d taken any excuse to sit close and lean against him. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap.  “Speaking of. After all this is over, I know Princess Eruca wants you as head of her army. That’s a pretty cushy gig. I would rather you not keep putting yourself in danger, but I guess generals are safer than us grunts in the field. And she’s pretty and a queen and things. So if you’d be happier with that, I… I’ll release you from our promise-”

“No.” He should’ve said yes, should’ve lied, traded her a smaller heartbreak now against the greater one to come. She didn’t have their year in Skalla, just this timeline and a few weeks since they’d had their talk. “I don’t want to break our promise.”

Raynie heaved an audible sigh. “Good. Then I’m not gonna. You’re _really_ stuck with me now.” She scooted closer and put an arm around him. She was smiling, carefree and confident once again, and he found his own lips turning up in response.

 _But if I’m really Ernst…_ he thought suddenly, and his smile faded. Hers dropped away, too.

“You’re worried about something,” she said. “More than usual, I mean. You didn’t complain about Rosch and Sonja spending the night together before. Is it the fight with Hugo tomorrow?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “That’s some of it.”

“I have a real bad feeling about tomorrow too. Maybe it’s just that it doesn’t feel right, attacking Alistel, even if we’re on the right side. And I know Eruca says he can’t use his Divine Judgement thingy anymore, but…” She shook herself, then turned and put her other arm around him as well, crossing her hands to lock him in the hug. “Anyway, that’s why I wanted to square things with you, about our promise.”

Since he’d left the dead-end timeline in Skalla he’d done his best to be cautious when alone with her, in case unthinking habit betrayed how comfortable she was to him. When she kissed him, he’d never let it linger beyond two heartbeats. He ought to shake her off now, pull away pretending he needed to stretch; he wanted to put his arms around her and return the embrace.

“I know you don’t like to let people into your head,” she said quietly. “Not anymore than you are a romantic like Rosch and Sonja. That’s okay, I don’t expect you to change just cause we’re, well, whatever we are. But I’m here, you know? And if there’s anything I can do to help you…” Her arms around him tightened slightly.

“I want to go home,” he said softly, without thinking.

“Back to Alistel, d’you mean?”

He shook his head.  “I mean...” Memories flashed through his mind -- the dusty smell of their house in Skalla; laying beside her at night and feeling the gentle pace of her breathing as her chest rose and fell under his hand; stirring a pot at the stove while behind him clattering sounds told him the Raynie-of-then was setting the table. And the Raynie of today, sitting beside him with that look on her face, the moonlight on her hair and outlining the curve of her cheek. His heart was full of things that seemed too large and fragile for words. “I couldn’t say,” he said at last. “I’m not good with these sorts of things.”

“I don’t know what home means, either, I guess,” she said. “I’ve lost too many of ‘em. It makes me feel a little adrift. Being with you makes things steadier, though. If that makes sense.”

It did, all too well. Stocke turned to face her and leaned into her embrace, his own arms coming to circle her. Keeping his distance seemed less important, now, than keeping her close.  _A reason to live._ “Raynie….”

She pulled back and looked at him. “Take your time. Or, um, you know,” Raynie ducked her head, unexpectedly shyly. “They say actions speak louder than words, so if you could, you know, show me…”

He kissed her. Under the stars her lips were cool and dry and she held perfectly still. When he pulled back, her eyes opened and a grin split her face. “Oh good. I guessed right.”

“Heh.” Stocke brushed a lock of hair out of her face. “When all of this is over, Raynie… What do you want?”

“Another kiss,” she told him, moving her hands to his shoulders.

“That’s not what-” Stocke began, but then she was kissing him and the question could wait. She leaned into him, the familiar shift of her weight wakening an old habit of his own body, and Stocke leaned back, letting her bear them both down.

But when his back hit the ground, it was trampled grass and not their bed in Skalla, and he stiffened, his arms dropping to his sides.

Raynie slid off him, but stayed close, one arm over his chest. “Sorry, did I go too far? Marc was saying that if I’m really serious about things I should take it slow with you. Guess I got a little carried away.”

He shook his head; the problem was never her. “We’re outside.”

“Oh, yeah. Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to give anyone a free show.” She kissed his cheek, then pulled back and grinned down at him. It was a very Raynie sort of smile, cheerfully lascivious and tender all at once. “I just wanted to kiss you all the way down to the ground once. Thanks for indulging me.”

She rested her head against his, temple to temple; he turned to face her, and saw she was still smiling.

“You asked what I want after all this is over, Stocke…” She trailed off, then took a deep breath. “I want more nights like this. Just us, beneath the stars. Or inside if it’s raining. Just being. Together. Maybe fighting with each other sometimes, probably, because that happens with every couple, and I definitely want more kissing. And, you know, other things. But mostly just… Even if it’s something dumb like doing chores, whatever we’re doing, it’s together?”

“When it rains, we soak together,“ Stocke said, his voice rough as it emerged from his throat. “When it is hot, we burn together. We endure as clouds, peacefully.”

Raynie lifted her head to look at him. “That’s real pretty. Sounds kind of like a poem?”

“Satyros.” His throat closed. He shouldn’t have said those words, not now, not when he might be Ernst.

“Huh. Is there any more?” When he shook his head, Raynie went on. “Lemme see if I can remember it. When it rains we’re wet together, when it’s hot, we burn together, we’re like  clouds, peacefully… that doesn’t quite sound right,” she complained, resting her head on his chest.

“Close enough,” he murmured into her hair, putting his free arm around her.

“No, it’s not, I want to get it right,” Raynie insisted. “I’ve never had anyone say poetry to me before, I want to remember it!” When he stayed silent, she sighed and said, “Okay, fine, I’ll just ask Aht.”

“No, don’t.” He swallowed. “Wait until… until after Eruca performs the ritual. I’ll tell you again after.” If he was still here, he’d tell it to her again, every day for the rest her life if that was what she wanted. If he wasn’t… then Aht could tell her, and at least she would know what she’d meant to him.

“You’re that worried about the battle tomorrow, aren’t you,” she said softly. “Well, all right, I’m holding you to that. If you don’t tell me, I’m asking Aht, and I’m telling all our friends you’re a secret romantic who memorizes Satyros poetry. No one will believe your serious, stoic swordsman persona again.” She tweaked his nose.

He managed a weak chuckle. “That’s quite a potent threat.”

She laughed, too, but quietly, and they fell into comfortable silence after that. Stocke closed his eyes and let the distant sounds of sentries and the background chitter of cicadas grow to fill his ears

He felt Raynie shift sleepily on his chest. “Mm… you wanna go into the tent and sleep? It’s not like that would be bad for Aht.”

It was a sensible suggestion, but his limbs were already heavy and loose. “It’s nice here.”

“Yeah? What if it rains?”

 Stocke opened one eye. “Then we soak. Together.”

Raynie groaned and punched him lightly in the arm.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my betas catteries and Riha, who tolerated my fretting and provided feedback through several revisions!


End file.
